


The Case

by WitchRavenFox



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-07-16
Packaged: 2017-11-08 23:37:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchRavenFox/pseuds/WitchRavenFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gets called to Sherlock's side to help out with a case, but when he arrives he finds Sherlock isn't quite himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As I have no odea hwo to write a lisp, please imagine drunken Sherlock speaking as though he has one.

Title:The Case

Fandom:Sherlock BBC

Words Count:2454 Words

Characters:Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Harry Watson, Stevie Archer (O/C)

Rating:NC-17 for notions of sexual nature

Summary:John gets called to Sherlock’s side to help out with a case, but when he arrives he finds Sherlock isn’t quite himself.

 

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Feeling stuffed was nothing new to John Watson after living above Mrs Hudson, his adopted loving aunt. However, what was new for John was visiting his sister Harry and having her cook lavish meals for him to devour. It wasn’t just about her showing off her amazing talent. It was usually a way of introducing the latest girlfriend, of which there had been a few in the last six months.

 

Todays latest girlfriend was Stevie, a teacher with a cool temperament coupled with a wicked sense of humor that showed in her dancing green eyes, enough possibly to keep Harry in her place for a time too from what John had seen of her so far. This meant that throughout dinner conversation flowed freely from subject to subject, and no-one touched the subject of Sherlock Holmes, as Harry kept steering the topic away when it got to John’s work.

 

John knew that Harry was afraid that the mere mention of the man’s name would conjure him and drag John away, like he had many times in the past. Even now, a year after the fall and six months since Sherlock’s return, Harry had maintained a dislike of him for everything he was before and then putting him through hell despite John standing up for him repeatedly.

 

It was past ten o’clock when the inevitable happened though, as John’s leg vibrated with a text.

 

_On a case. At G-A-Y Old Compton Street. Come at Once - SH_

 

A fleeting smile played across John’s lips before he looked up into the reproachful eyes of his sister and it was stopped in its tracks as he placed his phone back in his pocket. Surely Sherlock could wait a little while, as John didn’t even realise there was a case on at the moment. Anyway, John knew that if Sherlock really needed him there would be a second message.

 

For a while John managed to tell Stevie about a case he had when he was temping at a GP surgery, where an older man had come in needing help to retrieve something...he had slipped on. Luckily it was something that could be dealt without needed a hospital, just a helping hand to slide the small mobile phone from the place it was lodged and he was on his way, phone in hand this time.

 

Maybe it was the simple conversation about mobiles, but when John’s phone beeped with a message again, Harry looked set to spring from her chair and create bloody murder.

 

_If inconvenient, come anyway. I need your eyes - SH_

 

John waited a few minutes, maybe even five, but before Harry could get a lecture in, John bid her and Stevie farewell and made his way to the nearest station to get to central London to find his consulting detective.

 

SHJWSHJW

 

Entering a loud G-A-Y on a Friday night when you weren’t sure if you would find who you were looking for, could often be seen as a stressful thing to do, a new thing and yet not so new. John had been clubbing, he knew the familiar sound of bass throbbing through him, and the scope of changing lights from green to red and phasing into yet another colour, and he knew exactly who he was looking for. 

 

Of course the thing that was most different was the amount of attention John was drawing to himself just by walking his walk, nothing fancy, after the second guy and first girl tried to talk to him, he decided that standing around was not the way to find Sherlock. So he decided on a search of the building, starting at the bottom and working his way to the top.

 

Buying a beer, John headed down the stairs and into a darkened room with soft lighting. There were corners everywhere, but people didn’t seem to be doing much except talking to one another, hugging, simply being in each others company. It was reassuring to see everyone so relaxed.

 

There was no sign of Sherlock on this floor though. No hint of a long lithe body laying in wait somewhere observing him, or anyone else for that matter.

 

John made his way to the stairs and was greeted by music before he came out on the main floor again, the air was filled with trance vibrating out and there were bodies dancing everywhere as he patrolled the perimeter, approaching it like a mission to find a lost soldier. 

 

John got caught up watching two beautiful men who were almost perfect and his breath hitched as they got closer and danced faster, and he was enthralled by their movements as they almost seemed to merge into one being, their faces were looks of pure pleasure. He tucked away the inappropriate thought he had, filled with Sherlock’s sweaty body pressed against his own and had to leash the fantasy and store it for another time. 

 

Refocusing John allowed his eyes sweeping every corner, high and low as you never could tell with Sherlock, but he satisfied himself very quickly that Sherlock was nowhere to be found on the main level.

 

John knew that Sherlock wouldn’t have summoned him if he wasn’t here, and likewise he would not have moved off without telling John that he was no longer around, so he forced himself through the crowds that lingered by the stairs – a fire hazard without a doubt – and made his way to the top floor of the club, his last vestige before texting Sherlock to find out where the consulting detective was.

 

This was a far more intimate dancing floor, because it was small, and it didn’t take long for John to look everywhere that was not the dance floor. He found himself drawn to the back of the room checking the darkened corners before thinking to look on the heaving dance floor.

 

It could have been choreographed – although John seriously doubted it – but the crowd simply seemed to part as John got closer to the large wall that had projections of hedonistic things he wouldn’t give himself up to. 

 

The parted crowd revealed something John had never thought he would see. Something infinitely beautiful. Something that John knew he could look at for an age or more.

 

Sherlock dancing amidst the crowd.

 

Sherlock’s shirt was practically ripped off of him, his buttons all undone down to his trousers but still tucked in place revealing pale unblemished skin, and John had to admit consciously that he knew exactly where there were freckles on that skin. He couldn’t help but notice due to all the times that Sherlock had shown his blatant disregard for clothing at home.

 

John stood rooted to the ground and he wanted to retreat. He wanted to retreat and his body would not let him. Instead he pretended that he was not watching Sherlock’s long limbs wind to the music in a way that was sexy and arousing, watching Sherlock’s arms as they reached skyward and then dragging down his own body slowly before resting them on his hips as he swayed.

 

John pretended that this display didn’t affect him – it absolutely did in all the right places.

 

Or that possibly seeing the smile of an adrenaline rush flowing through Sherlock didn’t make him look younger, softer and more approachable – but it did.

 

John also wanted to stop himself from walking up to Sherlock - wearing BAMF on his sleeve – and kiss the life out of him, and feel his sweat and taste whatever he’d been drinking. John absolutely stopped himself so that all he could do was stare. 

 

Staring was very good, until Sherlock turned and locked gazes with John like magnets of polar opposites would do, and John soon found that Sherlock was beckoning him to the dance floor with a catlike grin and the crook of a hand.

 

Poor John couldn’t stop his own feet from moving by themselves, until he stood directly in front of a still dancing Sherlock.

 

“John, you came!” Sherlock smiled again lazily, looking more like the Cheshire Cat. John noticed that Sherlock never stopped dancing though, his body gyrated to the rhythm of the music that pounded through their bodies. 

 

Something wasn’t right, John knew. It wasn’t just in Sherlock’s open face there was something... Off.

 

“Sherlock?”

 

“Yes,” Sherlock’s eyes went wide and round, full of guile but John ignored it.

 

“What are we doing here?”

 

Sherlock cast a look around by way of dancing more animatedly before closing the distance between them with a few silkened dance moves to lean down to John and whisper into his ear, “On a case, John!”

 

“You’re drunk!” John smiled, “And you’re lisping.”

__

“Yes, and yes. Dance with me?” Sherlock asked moving closer to John. He got in close before turning and dancing his tush along John’s arm, hand and got awfully close to John’s groin before moving to another part of John and rubbing his body along him.

 

John’s body stirred in response but was beat down by control. “Sherlock you can’t work drunk! We’re going to go home. Now! Where’s your jacket?”

 

Sherlock pointed towards the bar but continued to gyrate slowly at odds with the music and still so close to John, until John pulled away to get the jacket. He returned swiftly and all but dragged Sherlock out by the hand to the sound of some cheers of people who assumed Sherlock had pulled.

 

For once John was able to hail a taxi without Sherlock’s help and bundled him into the seat as he gave the cabbie the address. Sherlock sat in the corner looking at John, John didn’t have to look back, he felt the gaze, Sherlock’s eyes roaming him looking for something.

 

“Stop that.”

 

“Stop what?” Sherlock was an impudent drunk who challenged John with his gaze and his lisp.

 

“Stop staring, Sherlock.”

 

There were a few beats of silence, and John thought Sherlock was simply sulking but he wouldn’t look. Not even when he shifted in his seat, and moved a little closer to John.

 

“I like staring at you, John. I do. I do it all the time. Your beautiful, and you don’t know it,” Sherlock paused as his eyes skittered around the taxi before continuing quietly, “you are kind and patient... Normally. You’re strong and have big strong arms, shoulders... That is why I stare. I stare because you are...you!”

 

John had turned to look at Sherlock at some point, stunned speechless by the words of the younger man who was usually so buttoned up, and caught up in being mesmerised by his lips. His emotions were threatening to over spill when when realised that they were on Baker Street. Paying quickly he reasserted himself as the care-giver, and reminded himself that as Sherlock was drunk he had no idea what he was saying, despite how clear headed he may have sounded, even with his drunken lisp.

 

Up in the flat Sherlock sat in his arm chair looking at John while he made tea. It was a comfortable silence much like normal but tinged with unsaid words.

 

“You don’t have to thay anything back. I’m not expecting...” Sherlock started and John was there suddenly passing him a cup of tea before sitting opposite and lasping into silence again.

 

John beat down his emotions, and tried to be his normal self and think of what would happen if he took advantage of Sherlock in this state.

 

“Let’s talk about it in the morning, eh? When you’re not drunk. Alcohol does funny things to you, and I want... Well we should just talk about it after a nights sleep.”

 

Sherlock put his tea down and stood abruptly, his face cool and placid, “I’m going to bed.”

 

John let him get as far as the kitchen door that led to his bedroom before stopping him as he was reminded of why he had to get Sherlock in the first place. “Hang on, what about your case? What did you find out?”

 

Sherlock stood still in the doorway and didn’t turn or tilt his head at all. “The case... I’ll find out in the morning, after a nights sleep.”

 

Then he continued through to his bedroom and closed the door softly and left John looking after him in confusion.

 

John sat for a few minutes while his brain raced along at a speed he’d never had before. With the close of sherlock’s door something became glaringly obvious, Sherlock liked him as more than a friend. Alcohol was known to loosen Sherlock’s tongue and make him say all sorts, but for him to confess something like this, it must have been on his mind. He liked Sherlock more than a friend, so what had he been waiting for?

 

Making a snap decision, John went and stood by Sherlock’s door with his ear to it. He couldn’t make out a sound, but doubted that he had already gone to sleep, so he knocked and the door was wrenched open before a second had even passed.

 

“John...”

 

“I think you’re beautiful. I think everything about you is beautiful. I think your lips are beyond hypnotising, and even when you are being a prick you have this kind of light about you... You intellect is a turn on, and I want it. I have done for a while. No, what I mean is, I want you. 

 

“Your case, it wasn’t a crime or anything, it was a puzzle. Our puzzle, with you trying to figure us out. What I don’t understand is why you did it like this. Why tell me like this?”

 

Sherlock moved into the doorway and leaned again the frame, and John stood opposite, so they were close, a few inches forward from either of them and their chests would touch.

 

“Since I came back, I realised that what we had wasn’t enough. I didn’t know how to say it, you always think I’m so strong. So I wanted you to see me wild, sexy, free.” Sherlock paused for a moment, “I thought maybe if you wanted me, you would do something about it then.”

 

“You were drunk, you must know I wouldn’t take advantage of you like that?”

 

“Yes. I also knew that given the temptation you might give in, if only for a moment. I had to hope.” John took Sherlock’s hands in his own carefully, and kissed each set of knuckles and they stood there for a moment joined like that until John pulled back smiling.

 

“You do realise that it’s technically morning now, right? I think your case was solved early.”

 

Sherlock couldn’t hold back a smile as he drew John into his room and shut the door on them.

 

 

 


	2. The Case Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: The Case
> 
> Fandom: Sherlock BBC
> 
> Words Count: 1782 Words
> 
> Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
> 
> Rating: NC-17/R for explicit content/imagery
> 
> WARNINGS: Men going at it! Lisping! SMUT! (How many ways can I say it?)
> 
> A/N: Thanks for reading. geekvsnerd Thanks for the advice, I hope I did a more convincing job here!
> 
> Summary: Following on from the revelation of The Case, Sherlock wants to investigate possibilities behind closed doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This immediately follows on from Chapter 1 - Enjoy!!

Once the door was closed behind John, Sherlock pushed him up against it gently and crowded him. He didn't kiss him, more sensed him, filled his senses with John Watson. His nose smelt cigarette smoke in his hair - menthol's - undoubtedly Harry's. The faint smell of aftershave from earlier in the evening, the Issey Miyake that John had taken to wearing was in fact Sherlock's own fragrance and favourite clung to the pores of John's skin along with his natural earthy tones and the slight musk of his sweat.

It was at John's neck where Sherlock couldn't control his tongue that decided to lap over John's Adams Apple and caused John to quiver and moan and sag against the wall for support. Which was damned lucky really, because the nuzzle that followed with Sherlock's warm breath tickled John's skin brought them to a mutual moan that sounded like a feedback reel to the others ears.

John pushed against Sherlock for a moment, not because he had changed his mind and wanted to escape but because he wanted to see how much space he could have, if he wanted it. In response to that Sherlock simply crowded in a little more, another inch or two disappeared (not that there really was one) and every inch that Sherlock could cover of John was covered with his own body.

"Sher... Wait..." John felt Sherlock's hands still on his hips immediately and obediently in a way he never would normally, and John felt a stuttering breath sweep the nape of his neck.

"No-o John. No thtopping, waiting, none of that. Unleth... You... Want me to... Thtop...," Sherlock pulled his head back to look at John firmly in the eyes, "we can, if you want to thtop."

There was a stillness suddenly as John looked up to Sherlock and remembered him dancing wildly with his limbs in motion and hands on his hips and had a flash of the two beautiful men he had stopped to watch earlier while looking for Sherlock. He remembered the way they merged into the sight of oneness and felt all too freshly what he wanted in the moments that followed.

"I want... Sherlock I. Want. You. I do. A relationship, a future... If this is just an experiment or something to pass the time..."

"It'th not," Sherlock whispered suddenly sounding so very sober despite the lisp, "trust me. Please."

John's eyes glittered with the pleasure that swept through him and his pulled Sherlock down to his mouth to taste him. Their lips touched, caressed for a moment before John gave into the temptation to taste Sherlock more, and darted his tongue between his plush lips and Sherlock opened to admit him.

They sighed into each-other and Sherlock allowed his hands to roam under John's shirt to his hips before curving around to cup his arse and draw him closer. John's hands held Sherlock to him by his neck as though he wanted to devour him and felt Sherlock's racing pulse beneath his fingers.

John had to get him naked.

There was nothing for it. Buttons on the shirt went flying and rolled across the floor and soon John was running his open palms and finger tips all over Sherlock's chest and stomach. The were mewls of pleasure as fingers coasted lean hips and skirted upwards again before tracing invisible lines back to Sherlock's trouser belt.

John fumbled it for a moment before finding the buckle and unlatched it with a sigh of anticipation from Sherlock, popped the button there and unzipped in a swift movement before trousers slid to the floor softly. John's hands skimmed down from Sherlock's hip expecting to cup cotton or silk clad skin.

Instead he was met with naked creamy soft skin.

John's fingers touched warm flesh, Sherlock's warm flesh, and Sherlock had to restrain the impulse to thrust himself forward slightly and twist himself into John's waiting hands, even with his eyes now momentarily closed, he could feel John's eyes on him, taking in the sight of him hardening before his gaze.

Sherlock lunged forward to capture John in a kiss, he teased him, he nibbled licked, nipped and sucked on John's lips practically stealing his breath away, while he stepped out of his trousers pooled on the floor pressing himself flush against John again to feel his heat and turn his brain blurry images.

"Yeth... My John." Sherlock removed his own shirt while licking at the spot under John's ear where he could feel his pulse throbbing, and soon stood before John in his skin alone and sporting an impressive erection that made John's mouth water before he found his eyes drawn back to the impossibly blue-gray of the younger man before him.

Eager to join in the state of undress John began to remove items of his clothes, his shirt, t-shirt, jeans and boxers all followed swiftly being pushed over his own bobbing member, and fell by Sherlock's own discarded items before John stepped closer to Sherlock's body and brushed along it lightly. Sparks skittered across his skin and erupted into a deeper desire, deeper wanting, a need, and they soon found themselves skimming the silhouettes of the other as their breaths left them in short puffs of concupiscence.

Years of wanting had brought them here to this point. Years of not acting on the emotions that held them back. Six months of separation with John thinking the Sherlock was dead, while Sherlock watched from afar needing to touch or simply hear the John's voice. There was little room for speaking now though, their bodies did all the talking that was required to take this step together, their next step.

John cupped Sherlock's face within his hands and licked across a cheekbone happily, knowing he could do that at any time now. He intended to take full advantage with these cheekbones that he had stared longingly stared at so many times in the past. He pushed Sherlock back gently towards the bed and followed him down so that he knelt over him, grazing his skin with his own roughened hands, learning and teasing Sherlock so he could learn his responses as well as he knew his own. Sherlock's responses of the body were accompanied by moans of "yeth" and "oh John" until they were both at a fever pitch level, and a faint blush has spread over Sherlock's alabaster stomach.

Sherlock rolled them once, so that he knelt above John, and let his own fingers quest John's body. His neck was full of enchantments, his stout shoulders... Somehow John's old shoulder injury had managed to turn itself into some erogenous zone, for every time Sherlock blew across it or lapped at it John became unfocused and his breath shallow as he relaxed into the haze. Sherlock refocused his attentions on John's earlobes, sucking on them in turn. He nibbled his way down to Johns stomach and sucked at the skin covering undefined muscles until John was squirming beneath him.

They shared a look then - hot and heady and full of promise - that knew this was the "there's no going back" moment, which they both cast to the wind. Sherlock slid his hand under his pillow and retrieved the lube he had placed there before going out that night in the vain hope that they would end up together in this room at the end of the night. He applied quickly to himself, and began to prepare John with a finger at first to stretch him slowly.

When Sherlock brought his second finger into play, he curled them ever so slightly until he found the bundle of nerves and applied a slight pressure that almost had John buck from the bed in a suddenly unexpected pleasure.

"Oh god..." John moaned.

"Oh John," Sherlock moaned in response, crowding closer to lap at John's erection than wept on his stomach, "Oh John, you are amathing, you thould thee yourthelf, opening up for me. I can't wait to be clother to you..."

John was almost too far gone to care whether Sherlock's finger was inside of him causing the maelstrom of sensation until Sherlock lifted his legs over his shoulders and positioned himself at the heart of John and applied more lube to himself and to John. Sherlock ran a hand up John's outstretched arm and clasped hands a moment before he begun to slid home.

And it was home. Sherlock knew that with every inch that he buried in John, just as John knew that the fullness he now felt could never be matched by any man he'd been with in his past, although there weren't many. Their breath came thick and fast rushing from one set of lungs to the other as they kissed in their new found closeness content for a few moments to just 'be'.

"You need to move y'know," John murmured.

Sherlock shot him a glance, "I know. Like being this clothe to you," Sherlock said before he pulled back slowly and surged closer, "that good?"

John smiled up at the open smile of Sherlock and tilted his hips encouraging Sherlock to move again before he simply moaned with no words with one hand latched around Sherlock's neck to keep his face directly above his own.

They were leisurely given the time until Sherlock rubbed along John's prostrate on a sweeping curve motion and John was unable to suppress a groan. He drove faster to hit that spot, and repeated until John's eyes nigh on bulged from his head, and thats when Sherlock swept a hand over John's still throbbing erection and began to wank him to the rhythm of his thrusts.

"Sherl...I'm...Want to wait."

Sherlock peered down at John and kissed his lips tenderly, "No. I want...you now, please. Not far behind."

Another kiss undid John completely as he unravelled under Sherlock's ministrations and sure enough as John was floating to the warm bed, Sherlock came and saw white lights and collapsed on John unable to hold himself up on trembling limbs any longer.

When Sherlock stirred in his own room no more than an hour later he thought he was alone in his room under his duvet, and that John had left in embarrassment or regret. When he tried to turn over he found he had one arm wrapped tightly about his midriff.

Warm breath tickled his ear as John's voice grumbled deeply, "Go back to sleep Sherlock... It's still early morning."

Sherlock felt the kiss john planted on the back of his neck and he smiled to himself knowing that this was by far the best result on a case he had ever had.


End file.
